


A Life Inside Me

by Batsutousai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Mythology
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Gore, Odin's Good Parenting, Rape Recovery, Self-cest, Unhappy Ending, loki is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident connects future to past. Can Loki change his fate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life Inside Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lokesenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokesenna/gifts), [Hiddlestan (Alate)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alate/gifts).



> **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Marvel. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> **A/N:** I'm blaming this mostly on [@SimplyLoki](https://twitter.com/SimplyLoki) & [@kneel_before_me](https://twitter.com/kneel_before_me) for their RP skills, which started this little bunny hopping. Also to blame is [@Lozzien](https://twitter.com/Lozzien), who did the opposite of stopping me when I mentioned it. XD
> 
> Please note, the rape recovery warning refers to Svaðilfari's actions. This story takes place a little over a year after it, and pre- _Thor_!Loki has not quite moved past it. And I hadn't planned for Odin to be a good father when I set out, but he wormed his way into my good graces somehow. (It won't last, don't worry. XD)

Loki scowled as he finished the preparations for the scrying galðr. Thor thought the future was so sacred, that the Norns would _never_ let anyone – let alone someone as small and useless in battle as Loki – see what was to happen. As if Mother didn't have the gift for future-sight.

Really, Thor was probably just worried that Loki would see the outcome of tomorrow's tournament and ensure Thor would lose. Which, now that he thought of it... Loki smirked a bit to himself and settled back to observe the runes he'd scribbled out, hurried with anger. Some of them were a little rough around the edges, but Loki was sure it wouldn't matter; the runes were just guides, his seiðr was the truly important component.

He took a moment to centre himself, then closed his eyes and started the galðr, lips forming silent, hastily memorised words. Determination rose in him with his seiðr, and he smirked to himself at the feeling of absolute power before he let it go.

Everything exploded and Loki felt himself thrown back against his bookcase, shelves cutting painfully into his spine. He groaned and pushed himself away, reaching around to rub at the certain bruises even as he blinked through the after-glow of strong seiðr.

_Too strong,_ he recognised, finally making out a hunched figure in the centre of his runes.

Broad shoulders shifted and rose, black hair falling wildly against the fine black jacket. Silver glinted in firelight where a mouth should be, and Loki didn't realise it was a mask meant to silence until he was already slammed back against his bookcase again, fever-bright green eyes glaring into his own.

Chains sounded against his chest as Loki stifled a terrified gasp. What had he done, bringing this monstrous apparition into his room, into the palace of his family and people? What horrors would be unleashed for his careless actions?

_Perhaps Thor was right about not dipping my fingers in the designs of the Norns._

Then, as suddenly as the figure had attacked, some of the violence drained from his eyes and he pulled back enough that Loki's back was no longer forming against the shelves at his back. Those fever-bright eyes trailed over Loki's face, catching on marks of time that Loki never would have thought existed.

And then the other moved back fully, jacket swinging with the clink of chains against his knees, brows furrowed with something between confusion and distrust.

Loki was used to not being trusted, but usually with reason. And that violent greeting... He rubbed his throat and demanded, "Who are you, to be attacking a prince of Asgard?"

A flare of anger in too-bright green eyes, then a glimmer of amusement. Loki could almost see the smirk hidden behind the mask, like he'd seen it a hundred times before. One chained hand reached up and tapped the mask, a reminder that there could be no answers while the other was incapable of speech.

Loki hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward to feel under the long hair for the release. It took him a long moment, fumbling with the unfamiliar technology, but the mask did eventually release, falling to the ground between them with a hollow thump.

Deep cuts marked the edges of the mask, the edges having been serrated to keep it firmly in place. Loki looked on in horrified fascination as the other worked his jaw, reaching up with one jangling hand to finger along the cuts as they began to seep blood tinged with something golden-green. He looked down at the liquid and grimaced, but didn't – Loki couldn't help but notice with a flare of disbelief – react to what was surely a great deal of pain. "That's unfortunate," the other said of the mixture in his blood.

"W-who are you?" Loki stuttered, his stomach rolling for reasons he didn't really want to consider.

The smirk that accompanied the glimmer in those too-bright eyes was exactly like Loki had known it would be, even with the golden-green and red blood dripping a slash through it, and he felt a chill up his spine. "I think you know," the other said and licked at the blood.

Loki shuddered, the certain truth a sickening presence in his gut, simultaneously climbing his throat like bile, and weighing him down. "I-I d–"

"Take care before you lie to me, little prince," the other said, and the words were like ice, edged with a bitterness that Loki couldn’t begin – didn't _want_ – to comprehend.

"H-how are you he-here?" he asked instead, refusing to face the truth – he had always been best at lying to himself.

The other's expression lightened, amusement and something truly _wicked_ in the turn of his bloody lips, the glint of his too-bright eyes. "I haven't the faintest. Though..." He turned in place, looking to the runes Loki had scrawled over the stone floor. "In a rush, were we?" he said, somehow both mocking and almost kind.

Loki tensed and he took two sharp steps forward, straightening to his full height – the other still had almost an inch on him – and snarled, "You dare to insul–"

Chains slammed against his chest just moments after a hand cut off his ability to breathe, and he was suddenly on height with the other, nearly nose-to-nose as those too-bright green eyes darkened with the promise of pain like nothing Loki had ever dreamt. "I shall do as I please, little prince, and you will learn to curb your tongue, lest I sew your lips together far ahead of schedule."

Loki barely had time to widen his eyes in disbelief and horror before he was slamming against the far wall and falling into a heap on the floor. The bed was between them and Loki gladly took the lack of direct sight as a chance to curl in on himself and gasp fear against his knees.

Chains clinked against the floor on the other side of the bed, uncaring and set to ignore Loki. Eventually, though, the clinking quieted, approaching on silent boots. They sounded loudly again as the owner knelt next to Loki, one hand soothing through his hair, unconcerned with the way the prince flinched away. "You really shouldn't anger me," the other stated absently. "I'm not sure what would happen if I killed you."

Loki whimpered and curled a little tighter.

The other hummed. "You're surprisingly pathetic. Tell me, little prince, what has occurred recently? What grand event might be most recent on your mind?"

Loki peered up at the other, eyes wide and not even attempting to hide his terror. "Th-Thor has a tourney tomorrow?"

The other sighed and rubbed sharply against the cuts on his face, unflinching when one tore. "Thor has tourneys at least a half dozen times a century. Something greater; something of _you_."

Loki swallowed and turned his head just enough to hide behind his short hair, just enough to hide the pain and nausea that still rolled through him with the memories. "I returned home but three months hence," he whispered.

The other stilled. " _Sleipnir_ ," he whispered, the name falling from his tongue like a benediction. And when Loki looked up, he found something truly gentle easing the too-bright gleam of his eyes.

And, for all that the name of his son still made Loki flinch from almost a year alone, broken and trapped in a situation he wouldn't have wished on anyone, he felt a sudden well of fondness for his colt, who had changed this other man – this far-too-broken future him – into a mirror that Loki could actually see himself in.

"Yes," he whispered, watching the elder and not bothering to hide his pain at the subject when he looked down at him.

The elder's expression tightened for a moment, then he reached down and cupped Loki's chin, again making no reaction to Loki's flinch from his touch. "You are so young," he murmured. "So naïve, my little prince." He sighed and leaned back, looking towards the shelf he'd had Loki pushed against not so long ago. "You won't know the spells needed to break these chains, then."

"I–" Loki flinched when those too-bright eyes turned back to him, intense even without the burning anger, but quickly continued, "We can go to Fa–" Loki cut himself off and curled back into a ball at the absolute _fury_ that changed those too-bright eyes into something to be feared.

The elder didn't hurt him again, but there was clear need for violence in his voice when he said, "That _man_ is _**not**_ your father, and he deserves no such title of respect. Call him that in my presence again and I will flay the word from your tongue." A hard hand tore at Loki's hair and pulled his head back until they met eyes, tears springing up in Loki's. "Am I understood, Loki?"

Loki swallowed, mouth dry as Múspellsheimr, and whispered, "Yes, sir."

Something odd flickered in the elder's eyes and he released Loki's hair. "I will not be some nameless master to a child," he stated.

"I am _not_ a–"

"Giving birth does not make you an adult," the elder snapped, and Loki hunched in on himself again, afraid. The elder snorted and stood with an easy grace that Loki was more than a little jealous of. "You will claim to have discovered me as a learned man, one willing to take you under his wing." He let out a sharp laugh, a sound more broken than amused. "Sigurðr, you shall call me."

_Guardian of victory,_ Loki's mind translated for him as he peered back up at the elder. "You... You intend to...stay?"

The elder's – Sigurðr, now – lips curled at one side with a smile so bitter, Loki's heart ached. "And go back to this?" He pressed fingers along the cuts on his face, causing them to again seep that vile golden-green tinged blood.

Loki swallowed. "Wh-why is it doing...?"

"I'm bleeding seiðr," Sigurðr replied dryly, taking his hand from his face and raising it to show off the cuffs, chains jingling beneath them. "It is trapped by these, and must find a way to free itself, lest I explode from it." He lowered his hand, eyes tracking the cuff. "It was a poor-thought entrapment, though not all-together unexpected, given the general level of intelligence." And he laughed again, ice and sharp edges.

"Can I– Is there any way I might help?" Loki asked.

Sigurðr considered him for a long moment, too-bright eyes seeming to look far past his skin, into the very essence of his _soul_. "Thor has mastered Mjölnir?"

Loki nodded. "Yes, he did so while I–" He looked away, pushing against the bitterness of returning with a colt, only to find everyone had moved on without him.

"While you carried and birthed Sleipnir," Sigurðr said, voice cool and unconcerned.

Loki flinched like a physical blow had been struck.

Sigurðr let out a sharp sound, somewhere between resignation and disgust, then ordered, "Collect Mjölnir. He always keeps it just to–" He paused. "Ah, no. No, it's too early. You'll find it near to his door, in a pile with his armour." He let out that cold laugh again. "Careless little fool."

"I don't–" Loki swallowed. "I can't lift it."

Sigurðr eyed him, too-bright eyes all the more disturbing for their lack of emotion. "You can lift it." The tone was bland, but there was power in the words, a sort of certainty that Loki had never had directed at himself.

It was that certainty that had Loki standing, wavering for a moment before he centred himself. "I'll be right back," he promised, and his voice sounded weak compared to the other.

Still, he hurried from the room and down the hall to Thor's room. There, he paused to catch his breath, then slowly pressed the door open, just enough to let him slip in.

As Sigurðr had said, Thor's armour and Mjölnir were in a pile not far from the door. Loki scowled at his brother's laziness – it was an oddly reassuring facial expression, given the last...it felt like _hours_ that Sigurðr had been in his room – then reached down and grasped Mjölnir's handle. He licked his lips, closed his eyes, then tugged with all his might.

He almost went flying backwards when Mjölnir moved easily, weighing little more than the sword Loki was required to practise with. He caught himself at the last minute, thankfully, and took a moment to stare down at the marvellous weapon, one he'd thought never to wield. For how would one known as Liesmith and Silvertongue ever be worthy of such glory?

Loki shook himself – _This is **hardly** the time!_ – and crept back out of Thor's rooms and back to his own, taking care to avoid servants and guards while carrying Thor's prized weapon.

Sigurðr had moved to Loki's bookcase while he was gone, and was looking through one of the younger's books. The young prince waited until he'd closed the door before asking, "Haven't you read all those?"

Sigurðr waved a careless hand and shoved his current book back into its place. "Not for nearly a millennium." He turned, eyes immediately catching on the hammer Loki held to his chest. A smile both fond and bitter turned the elder's mouth. "As I said."

"But, _why_ could I pick it up?" Loki asked, walking carefully over to where Sigurðr was settling on the floor.

"She recognises noble deeds and those in need. She has not yet been tied to Thor. Not truly."

Loki's brow furrowed. "Not truly?" he repeated.

Sigurðr's lip turned with a nasty smirk. "Perhaps," he said, tone most definitely mocking, "if you are _very_ good, I shall tell you. One day." He placed his right hand on the stone floor between them. "Break the cuff."

Loki's eyes widened. "But I'll hurt you!"

Sigurðr closed his eyes, expression tightening with something approaching violence. "If you do not break these cuffs with Mjölnir, I will chance the Norns and break your neck." His eyes snapped open, murder bright and terrifying in too-bright eyes. "Am I clear, little prince?"

Loki swallowed and nodded.

"Good. Break it."

Loki sucked his bottom lip between his teeth to gnaw at, even as he raised the hammer, took a moment to settle himself, then brought it down.

The metal of the cuff shattered. So, too, did the bones in Sigurðr's wrist and arm, and Loki's stomach turned with nausea. But the elder man didn't even flinch, just traded his right arm for the left, showing off the second cuff.

"Do it," Sigurðr ordered, somehow knowing that Loki needed the prompting.

Loki bit his lip hard, tasting blood, and hurriedly handled the second cuff.

Again, cuff and bone shattered. And, again, Sigurðr made no reaction to what must have been the absolute _worst_ pain.

After a beat, Sigurðr began to glow the same shade of golden-green that had leaked from his wounds. He closed his eyes and let out a careful breath, then brought up his damaged hands to show as they quickly reformed, as good as new. So, too, did the cuts from the mask heal, and a tenseness left his shoulders.

Then, as the light faded, Sigurðr collapsed to one side with a weak laugh, a sound more tired than violent. "Ah," he said as Loki hurried to his side, fearful for this older mirror of himself. "It seems as though I have overextended." He let out a quiet sound that lay somewhere between helpless and disgusted, then shoved at the floor. "I will sleep on a real bed," he snarled.

"Here," Loki insisted, and helped the elder into the bed.

Sigurðr grunted wordlessly, a noise that might have been gratitude, then motioned with a couple of fingers and most of his leathers vanished with a glimmer of golden-green.

Loki was so jealous, there were no words for it.

"Return Mjölnir, unless you wish Thor banging on your door in the morn," Sigurðr suggested before his breathing lengthened.

Loki took a couple deep breaths, then carefully reached around and drew the covers over the elder. Sigurðr didn't react, clearly exhausted beyond Loki's comprehension, and the prince nibbled at his wounded lip even as he turned and gathered Mjölnir to return the hammer to his brother's rooms.

Sigurðr had definitely been right about one thing: If he kept Mjölnir, Thor would suspect him first. Never mind that he'd never been able to lift the bloody thing before.

-0-

Sigurðr slept for three days. Loki's natural refusal to allow anyone into his rooms helped hide the elder man's presence, and he began spending some hours out of the city, to lend credence to the story that Sigurðr was to be a personal tutor of his. (He knew how to form a lie, how to build truth around it so it could pass under even Father's all-knowing scrutiny. Assuming Heimdall wasn't watching him wandering the land without purpose for hours on end. Or was watching Loki's rooms. He shuddered at the thought.)

Sigurðr was awake when Loki returned from his wanderings on the third day, looking blankly around the room and dressed in a far less formal version of his leathers than what he'd been wearing upon his appearance. His eyes had darkened to a more normal shade of green, but it only seemed to make the restrained violence glinting in them that much more obvious.

Loki swallowed and stopped out of easy reach of the elder man, then said, "Good evening, Sigurðr."

The other's eyes narrowed for a moment on the young prince, then he relaxed, a cool smile turning his lips. "Good evening, Loki," he returned, voice a purr.

Loki suppressed a shudder.

"How long have I slept?"

"About three days," Loki replied, shifting from foot-to-foot a touch nervously. "No one is aware of your presence, so far as I've been informed."

No, it really didn't matter how much space Loki put between them, because Sigurðr was in front of him before Loki could even blink, brushing a hand down the curve of Loki's face as he stumbled backwards. The smile turning Sigurðr's lips was more cruel than comforting, but Loki took comfort in the lack of violence, all the same.

"Ah, my little prince, I am quite fond of you, for all your blind trust makes me want to wring your neck." One finger drew a line across Loki's throat, and Sigurðr laughed that laugh of ice when Loki gasped in terror and took two quick steps back, both hands going protectively to his throat. "No matter," Sigurðr continued, unconcerned, "I will soon cure you of that unfortunate habit."

Loki swallowed and slowly lowered his hands back to his sides before asking, "Do you require sustenance?"

Sigurðr considered him for a long moment before brushing past Loki and stopping before the bookcase, pulling down a book at what seemed to be random. "If you are capable of doing so without raising undo suspicion." He spun, the book knocking heavily against the golden decoration on his chest, something which appeared to be a personal symbol, considering it existed when the rest of his adornments had vanished. "Do not concern yourself with Heimdall; he will not know of my existence unless I wish him to."

That was seiðr Loki was interested in learning, and he itched with the need to ask after it. But he was learned enough to know his limits, and afraid enough of Sigurðr that he daren't bother him. "It's not...uncommon, of late, for me to take meals in my rooms," he said carefully as he moved towards the doors. "I'll see to it that enough is delivered for us both."

"Of course you will," Sigurðr agreed, mocking and amused.

Loki bit his tongue against the urge to reply with a snarled insult and hurried from his rooms.

Food wasn't hard to procure, even enough for two people, and so Loki returned feeling quite victorious. Sigurðr gave no thanks – Loki would have been surprised if he had, honestly – but went after the food with a vengeance.

Loki's usual appetite paled in comparison to the elder's, and he ended up dividing out about half of his own portion, half afraid Sigurðr would eat _him_ if he didn't. And then he asked, "When was the last time you _ate_?"

Sigurðr slowed his gluttony and pinned Loki with a cold look. "I don't remember," he said, but it sounded more like a threat than an admission, and Loki shifted a little further away from him at the small table.

They didn't speak again until the last of the food had vanished. Then, eyes cast towards the runes still on the floor from when Sigurðr had appeared, Loki asked, "Why did you change those two runes?"

Sigurðr glanced up, confusion flickering in his eyes for a moment before he followed Loki's gaze to the circle. "You were attempting to scry, were you not?" And his voice was cool, almost calming, when placed against the tone he usually took when speaking to Loki.

The young prince nodded. "Yes. I had wanted to see if Thor would lose the tourney, or if I could..." He frowned.

"See to it that he lost?" Sigurðr suggested, a suggestion of amusement in his eyes as he turned back to Loki. "You would have been better served hiding Mjölnir, had your wish been that; I have never known him to lose while wielding that hammer." Something in his expression flattened suddenly, and there was bitterness under the anger as he snarled, "The golden son could _never_ lose, no matter the _consequences_."

Loki shifted in his seat for an uncertain moment before asking, "But why _those_ changes? The scroll I found–"

"The scroll is wrong," Sigurðr interrupted, some anger still in his voice, but he appeared to be rapidly relaxing, leaning back in his chair and settling entwined fingers over his stomach. "Any further books or scrolls will be passed to me before you start reading them, and I will tell you whether they are worth your time. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Loki whispered, a little disbelievingly. "Does that mean... Are you actually going to _teach_ me?"

Sigurðr's eyes narrowed. "Did I not say I would?"

"You– But that was..."

Sigurðr snorted and turned his eyes to the unlit fireplace behind Loki. "A mere cover for my existence. It is that, yes, but it is also very much the truth; I am here, and I will not sit back and watch you fumble so pathetically through life while I am so capable of assisting you." His eyes flared too-bright for a second and warmth bloomed against Loki's back as the fireplace lit. "You will be prepared, or you will die at my hand."

Loki shuddered at that ultimatum. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

Sigurðr watched the flames for a long moment before focusing again on Loki. "Good. The runes."

-0-

The day after Sigurðr had woken, he and Loki found him a place to say he'd been living. And then Loki stood back and stared on in awe as his new teacher created a small cottage from nothing.

"I think you must be a better seiðmaðr than F– the Allfather!" Loki exclaimed, remembering at the last minute Loki's hatred of Odin.

Sigurðr snorted. "Not as such."

Loki blinked, mind caught on another topic. "Why did you say he isn't my father?"

Sigurðr tensed and turned a gaze full of fury and ice on the younger, lips curling with a cold smile when Loki flinched and stumbled back a couple steps. "Have you truly a wish to know?" he wondered, tone mocking. "I would dearly love to see him fall so utterly in your eyes. To see _everything_ fall."

Loki hurriedly shook his head. "I don't–" He bit off the lie, because he _did_ want to know, wanted to know _everything_. But he didn't want to face the consequences. (In that, he and Thor were quite alike.)

Sigurðr's eyes _gleamed_ with violence and cruel intent. And then, as Loki watched, they slowly faded from green to a bright, blood-red. The pale skin around those eyes shifted, turning blue and raising with lines written in a pattern Loki could hardly even consider with the way his mouth went dry and his stomach climbed his throat. And then Sigurðr was directly in front of him, holding Loki's wrist in one frozen hand.

There was no chill, and Loki looked down to find blue racing along his own skin, the patterns raising behind an exact mirror of the ones on Sigurðr's own hand and arm.

" _No_!" Loki shouted, wrenching his wrist away.

Sigurðr grasped Loki's face between his blue hands, red eyes blazing with victory. " _Yes_ ," he hissed, cruel as the unforgiving cold of Jötunheimr. "You are a _monster_. A babe left to die in the world of ice, but for a soul of _kindness_ , who would dare to bring you back with him from war as a _trophy_. You are _nothing_."

"I am a _prince of Asgard_!" Loki screamed back at him, pulling at Sigurðr's hands, trying to get him to _let go_. "You're a _liar_! Trying to poison me against my _Father_ because of some– some _vendetta_! Some punishment for something he hasn't even _done yet_!"

Sigurðr let him go and Loki fell backwards, landing hard and painful on the ground. "Ask him, then," he said, cold and quiet as the winds that played across Jötunheimr's surface. "Go. Ask your _precious father_ who birthed you. Ask what throne you have true claim to, for it is _certainly_ not this one."

Loki stared up at him, terrified and sick. "I'm not–" he started on a whisper.

" ** _GO_**!" Sigurðr roared.

And Loki scrambled to his feet and fled, tears streaming down his face and stomach heaving. He ran until he couldn't any more, then dropped to his knees and threw up, tears and snot mingling and dripping onto the pile of half-digested breakfast.

He stayed there, sobbing and dry heaving until he was too exhausted to do anything more than curl up on the ground and close his eyes.

-0-

He woke to the warmth of a crackling fire, curled up under blankets and wearing only his loincloth. The bed was comfortable, but not his own, and he tensed and slowly cracked one eye to look around.

The room had only the barest amount of furniture, and nothing at all personal. It wasn't until Loki turned towards the door that he recognised the odd slant to it. _Sigurðr's cottage._

So, the elder had come after him. He hadn't left Loki to the will of wild beasts. That was comforting.

The front door pushed open and Sigurðr stepped in, a bag slung over one shoulder, expression impassive. He gave a quick glance over the cottage, eyes stopping on Loki. "Awake, are you?" he asked, voice cold.

Loki turned away from him, not really wanting anything to do with the other at that particular moment, not after earlier.

Sigurðr made no further attempts at conversation, instead moving lightly around the cottage (preparing food, from the sound of things). At last, he called, "If you intend to eat, I suggest you get up."

Loki finally looked back at the elder man and found him setting bowls out at the table, a pot letting off a thin tendril of steam near the fireplace. "I'm lacking trousers."

Sigurðr glanced over at him and Loki suddenly found himself dressed in a comfortable green tunic and black trousers, the former of which was edged with gold. Awe warred with jealousy for a moment before Loki resolutely shoved both emotions aside and climbed out of the bed and settled in at one of the chairs.

Sigurðr served them both and they ate in silence. Loki had to admit that, again, the elder was proving himself to be ridiculously good at something, because the soup was actually pretty good. Much better than Loki could make, at least, and lifetimes ahead of anything Thor tried to cook up. (Thor had been forbidden from cooking, a unanimous decision by Loki, Sif, and the Warriors Three.)

They were just finishing up when, from outside, a familiar voice boomed, "COME OUT, KIDNAPPER!"

Loki turned towards the door in disbelief. "He _isn't_."

Sigurðr snorted as he rose from his seat. "You left the wards blocking Heimdall's sight; Odin will have sent Thor after you when you did not return to the palace."

"It's hardly the first night I've spent away from home," Loki muttered, refusing to think about his most recent absences.

"I very much doubt Heimdall is used to seeing you purge your stomach while sobbing," Sigurðr returned, and Loki flushed and turned away. The door of the cottage was pulled open and Sigurðr stepped out, calling, "And who are you, then, to be calling me such?"

"I am Thor, son of Odin Allfather," Thor snapped back. "And you were seen carrying away my brother, Prince Loki. I demand you return him!"

Sigurðr let out a laugh, the one that sounded like ice and sharp edges, and Loki imagined Thor was readying Mjölnir, completely ignoring his fear, as well as his common sense. "Loki is free to leave whenever he so pleases, son of Odin. You may ask him yourself." Sigurðr turned to look back at where Loki was still seated, smile easy, but eyes violent in a way that Loki hadn't seen yet, and it sent a chill down his back. "If you do not intervene, and he swings that hammer at me, I will kill him," Sigurðr murmured, his voice sounding directly in Loki's ear.

Loki absolutely believed him, and he hurried out of his chair and to the door, pasting on his most honest fake smile for his brother. "Thor?" he said, going for just this side of confused. "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be training in the yards?"

Thor had Mjölnir in hand, as Loki had expected, but the hard glint in his eyes was giving way to confusion. "L-Loki?"

"Thor?" Loki returned, carefully placing himself between his brother and his new teacher.

Mjölnir knocked against Thor's knee, grip loose, and he winced. "You're– Ah." He rubbed the back of his head and clipped Mjölnir to his belt. "Heimdall thought you to be in danger. Father sent us after you to check."

" _Us_ ," Sigurðr repeated on a snarl.

Loki swallowed and looked back at the elder, taking in the rising violence in the brightening eyes with a sinking sensation. "Sigurðr," he called. "It's okay. It's just my friends. They mean no harm."

"For _now_ ," Sigurðr replied, and there was bitterness under the violence, something so fresh it couldn't be hidden. Or, perhaps, Sigurðr simply didn't care to try.

"Thor," Loki offered over his shoulder, still watching his elder mirror for any signs that his brother and friends needed to leave _right then_ , "why don't we ask the Warriors Three and Lady Sif to come out, before Sigurðr feels any more threatened."

"Oh." Thor let out the sharp-sharp-long call for 'All clear'.

Leaves rustled as the other four stepped into the clearing, all slowly putting their weapons away.

The violence was still in Sigurðr's eyes, but he made a show of relaxing his body. And, while he didn't quite smile, there was a slightly more welcoming air to him. So Loki deemed it safe to turn his attention to the party that had come to see to his safety. "It wasn't necessary for you to come out here," he assured them. "I was...feeling unwell. I fear the galðr Sigurðr had been teaching me went a little awry, and I had to rest here until I was well."

Thor blinked and looked oddly at Sigurðr, but it was Fandral who asked, "He's a seiðmaðr?"

"An _excellent_ one," Loki agreed, uncaring that he was gushing a bit, for he truly believed Sigurðr to be a class of his own.

Volstagg boomed a laugh. "He doesn't seem like much a–" His words cut off with a rather womanly scream as he suddenly found himself held upside down in the air, a tree branch tight around his ankles.

The others all readied their weapons, but relaxed disbelievingly as Loki burst out laughing.

"Cathartic," Sigurðr murmured, considering the flailing warrior with a smirk that was just shy of nasty curling his lips.

"But you have no staff with which to cast!" Thor exclaimed, gazing in disbelief at the man that was leaning against the door frame of the cottage.

Sigurðr snorted and waved a hand towards Volstagg, sending him crashing to the ground. "For seiðr so simple? No, this is mere child's play, son of Odin."

Loki could already see the fight darkening in Thor's eyes, assisted by Volstagg's furious grunting as he climbed back to his feet, hand tense around his axe. "Perhaps," he interrupted, "it's time to return home? Mother is surely in a panic enough, Father having sent you after me."

"True enough," Thor agreed grudgingly.

Loki swallowed his relief and turned towards Sigurðr. "I'll return within a few days."

Sigurðr raised one eyebrow. "That would be wise, lest you wish me hunting you down in the castle."

Seeing Sigurðr interact with his brother and friends now, Loki was pretty sure they would all be better off if he kept the elder from anyone familiar. _Except maybe Sleipnir,_ a part of him considered, and he hid the flinch that accompanied the thought by turning back to his brother and friends with a wide smile. "Let me collect my boots and then we can return."

Boots appeared next to the bed as Loki re-entered the cottage, and he smiled a bit as he walked over to them and slipped them on. He offered a smile to Sigurðr as he moved past him on the way out, only for it to freeze on his face when the elder said, "Speak to Odin."

Loki swallowed against bile. "I will," he whispered, then hurried past the other man to where his brother and friends were waiting for him, and they all left the clearing together.

"He's disturbing," Fandral said cheerfully as the cottage faded into the trees behind them.

Loki choked out a laugh, thinking, _Fandral, you have **no** idea._

-0-

Mother worried over Loki for almost an hour before he was able to get away. Not that it lasted long, since Thor had apparently been ordered to shadow him.

"Will you be sleeping on my couch, as well?" Loki wondered dryly. "Or will I be forced to share my bed?"

"I'm just worried about you," Thor insisted, lengthening his steps just enough to catch up and walk at Loki's side, rather than dodging his heels. "And I don't like that man you've taken on as a teacher."

"The feeling is entirely mutual on his side, I assure you."

Thor huffed. "You aren't going back out to see him again."

Loki stopped walking and turned to burn a glare into Thor's back until he turned to look at him, brow furrowed. "You think, _Brother_ , to dictate my actions?" he asked, voice sharp and with just a touch of ice. As though the unveiling of his Jötunn heritage had changed the very quality of his words.

Thor frowned. "It's just, he's dangerous. And Father hasn't approved of him. You shouldn't be alone with someone–"

"I do not require your _protection_!"

"Of course you do," Thor insisted, eyes wide. He held out a soothing hand to Loki.

Loki smacked it away. "The last time I needed your protection, _you weren't there_ ," Loki snarled. "You were throwing a _party_ while I was alone and helpless. I managed fine then, I'll manage now." He shoved Thor back a couple steps, revelling in the broken regret in blue eyes. "I don't want, nor do I need, any _protection_ you have to offer." Then he pushed past Thor and stalked down the hall towards his room.

It was only when the door was locked securely behind him that Loki fell to his knees and curled around himself, shuddering with sobs and nausea from memories and a terrible weight on his shoulders; _I'm turning into Sigurðr already..._

-0-

He waited a day before seeking out his father, shuffling after him on his way to the empty Council chambers. The Council wouldn't convene for another two hours – Father was always early, just in case he was needed – but Loki still looked uncertainly around at the empty hall before carefully stepping inside.

"Loki?" Father called, surprised.

Loki swallowed and nodded. "Could we speak, Father?"

"Of course." Father waved him towards the empty chair at his left. "Come. Sit."

Loki shook away the sinking feeling at the meaning of the seat offered – he could just as easily have suggested the chair on the right – and stepped over to the chair. He didn't sit, though, instead pressing his fingers along the relief carved into the back of the chair. "My new teacher–"

"Of whom I disapprove," Father informed him, reproach and resignation mingling in his tone.

Loki glanced up at him, then down to his fingers. "He told me I'm not your natural-born son."

Father was absolutely still for a long moment before allowing, "This is true."

Loki closed his eyes. "He said I'm Jötunn," he whispered, wanting Father to refuse, but knowing he wouldn't.

Father let out a stuttered breath. "Your blood parents are Laufey and Fárbauti, the rulers of Jötunheimr," he agreed.

Loki bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling like there was ice in his veins. "Why am I here?" he asked. "Why am I–?" He choked and turned his head to the side, as though to hide this pain from his fa– No. Odin wasn't his father.

"You're my son," Odin said, unwavering and calm. "You're here because this is where you belong, with your family."

Loki bowed his shoulders forward, uncertain they'd hold with all the shaking they were doing. "But you're not–"

"Loki." A heavy hand came down on his shoulder, and Loki looked up into that single eye, burning with an emotion so fierce and comforting that the hand on his shoulder seemed suddenly to be pulling him up, not weighing him down. "You are my _son_. Blood has no meaning in this."

Loki swallowed and nodded.

"Sit," Od– His fa– The _Allfather_ insisted, waving away a Council member who had arrived early.

Loki did so, carefully straightening his posture, because he was still a prince and this was a public room. He'd shown enough weakness of late. There was no need for any more.

When the Allfather didn't immediately start speaking again, instead simply observing Loki, the prince asked, "Why did you take me? You were at war with the Jötnar, so why bring one into your own walls?"

The Allfather sighed. "The war was over and there had been enough dead. You were abandoned in their temple; I should never be so heartless as to ignore any baby's cries." He met Loki's gaze, then, expression tightening. "I had thought, perhaps, that if war was to again come to pass between our peoples, you might facilitate the return of peace. I still hope that is true."

_I was to be a tool of peace,_ Loki thought, uncertain how to feel, _but I remained for love._ That....wasn't anywhere near so bad as Sigurðr had led him to expect.

"Your new teacher, I take it he has no love for me."

Loki swallowed and nodded. There was no use in lying about Sigurðr's hatred of the Allfather, not when a single meeting between them would provide all the proof anyone could ever need. Perhaps, in speaking honestly, he could keep Father and Sigurðr far, _far_ apart.

"He, too, is Jötunn," Father said, pitched as more statement than question.

Loki tensed. Jötnar were forbidden in Asgard, but it was a ready excuse for Sigurðr's abhorrence for their ruler. And it was, again, the truth.

Father seemed to understand Loki's hesitation, for he soothed, "So long as he makes no war on this city, and no others discover the truth of him, I will not see him returned to Jötunheimr."

Loki nodded. "He is, yes."

Father sighed and Loki glanced up to find him rubbing a hand over his beard. "I do not approve," he commented, then held up a hand when Loki opened his mouth to respond. "I _do not_. But I would see you trained in _all_ of your talents, not just those you might learn from the lips of an Áss."

"Thank you, Father," Loki breathed and began to rise, ready to run from the room immediately.

Father reached out and grabbed Loki's wrist, single blue eye sharp with a sense of concern. "Swear you will be careful, Loki."

Loki swallowed. "I trust him, Father," he insisted.

"Swear to me that you will be careful."

Loki blinked and took a shuddering breath. "I...swear," he agreed, uncertain whether or not he was lying. For how careful could he be with someone who knew his every thought before he'd had occasion to think it?

Father sighed and let him go. "Your life is worth more than peace with Jötunheimr," he said as Loki finished standing. "Your teacher may return with that to his king."

Loki swallowed against a block in his throat and inclined his head. "Thank you, Father," he whispered and hurried from the room.

-0-

"Did you speak to him?" Sigurðr demanded as soon as Loki entered the cottage.

Loki didn't need to ask who 'he' was. "I did," he agreed carefully. "He admitted I am not his true child, but that doesn't make him any less my father."

Sigurðr narrowed his eyes. "You are clearly defective," he snarled before turning away.

"Why do you hate him so much?" Loki asked, watching the tense lines of the other's back.

Sigurðr spun, eyes blazing with violence, and Loki stumbled backwards a step. "That _man_ banished my children and forbade me from seeing them, from even _healing_ them before they were sent away. And when I fought for them, he had me silenced and shackled like some Midgardian slave. He _deserves_ no such title of honour as _father_!"

Loki stared at the elder, unshed tears blurring his vision, finally beginning to understand some of the pain he had suffered that had turned him so violent and cruel.

Sigurðr spun away, growling, "You're worse than my wife while she was pregnant. Desist with those tears."

Loki swallowed and wiped at his eyes. "He hasn't done any of that," he pointed out.

" _Yet_."

Something lay heavy in Loki's stomach. "Yet," he agreed quietly. Then he shook himself. "He _won't_."

Sigurðr laughed, hollow and cruel.

"We won't _let him_ ," Loki insisted. "I'll be stronger this time, right? You'll teach me?"

Sigurðr glanced over his shoulder, expression carefully wiped blank. "That is my intention."

"And you'll be here. He can't face _two_ of us down."

Sigurðr snorted. "Alone, perhaps not. But he will hardly be alone."

Loki took a deep breath and looked down at his hand, willing it to shift colour, to change into that bright, terrible blue. "We'll just have to master our element of surprise," he said, holding up one blue hand.

Sigurðr's eyes widened, then narrowed. "It seems," he murmured, quiet and cold as blue bled over his skin, "you are more like me after all."

Loki grinned, sharp and cold, and Sigurðr smiled back, ice and teeth, with blood in his eyes.

-0-

When Loki prepared to leave for Sigurðr's cottage the next morning, he came upon one of the stable hands who was leading Sleipnir out for a walk. He immediately felt guilty, for he had spent little time with his son since returning to the palace, but also a little nauseous. He loved Sleipnir, and he hardly blamed him for the events of the past year, but he was still a very real reminder of that horrible time.

And, yet, there was someone who would appreciate some time with Sleipnir, Loki realised, and he hurried after the stable hand. As soon as Sleipnir smelled him, he turned and started over, big eyes wide and hopeful, and Loki felt his heart break a little.

"Hello, my little one," Loki murmured as he cupped his child's head, ignoring the stable hand's stumbling apology for Sleipnir head-butting him. "I'm sorry for not coming to visit you."

Sleipnir let out a quiet noise of acceptance and nudged closer to Loki, as though he was trying to share in Loki's warmth.

His heart broke a little more and he reached out a hand for the end of the rope the stable hand held. "I'll take him out."

"A-are you sure, my prince? It is my duty and I am ever proud to serve the House of–"

"I'm certain," Loki interrupted, staring the man down until the rope was in his hand. "Thank you. We'll likely return quite late, but I can see Sleipnir to rest. Ensure there is fresh hay and oats, and you may spend the rest of the day idle."

The stable hand gave a quick bow and stumbled away.

"There's someone I think will be most interested in seeing you, little one," Loki murmured as he took off the rope lead and dropped it into the bag he wore at his side, trusting his son to follow him.

Sleipnir nudged him, a clear question in his eyes.

Loki waited until they were out of the city before finally answering. "He is another me from far in the future. He's teaching me seiðr and how to best utilise other natural gifts. He has never specifically said so, but I believe he very much would wish to see you."

Sleipnir whinnied questioningly.

"He's been hurt," Loki whispered past the block in his throat, remembering Sigurðr's furious words from the day previous. "Oh, Sleipnir, he's lost _so much_." He stopped and turned to hide his face in his son's mane, it only just hitting him how much he stood to lose himself. He could lose Sleipnir forever and he'd been _avoiding_ him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, clinging tightly to his son.

_No more,_ he swore to himself, pulling back and smiling at the worried noise Sleipnir made. "Maybe," he offered, "if you and Sigurðr get on, you can start coming along. We can spend time together, all three of us. Like a real family."

Sleipnir's eyes lit up and he knocked his head into Loki's chest, clearly excited by the idea.

Loki laughed and hugged his son around the neck, then returned to leading the way to the cottage.

Sigurðr was waiting for him when Loki stepped into the clearing, snarling, "What took you so–" He stilled when Sleipnir stepped through the trees behind Loki, cautious and uncertain. Everything about Sigurðr softened, and he held up both of his hands in a show of peace. "Sleipnir?" he called, voice pitched low and soothing.

Sleipnir let out a careful noise of affirmation and stopped at Loki's side, just out of immediate reach of Sigurðr.

The elder man let out a soft noise and motioned with his hand. Four carrots appeared there and he smiled, bright and true, when Sleipnir perked up. "Go on," Loki murmured, nudging his son.

Sleipnir went, taking the first carrot with care and swallowing it down faster than Loki with a plate of his favourite sweets. The second and third went the same way, and when Sigurðr pulled the fourth away teasingly, the colt head butted him the same way he always did Loki. Sigurðr let out a delighted laugh and gave him the last one, running his hand up Sleipnir's nose and scratching between his ears in a manner than looked well-practised.

When Sigurðr looked up at Loki, his eyes were softer than Loki had seen them yet, and swimming with gratitude. Loki smiled back and stepped closer, commenting, "Sleipnir needed the exercise. I might start bringing him, get him out of the stable hands' hair for the day."

Sigurðr chuckled and tickled Sleipnir's nose, earning him a sneeze and a disgruntled noise. "Yes. I recall many a stable hand leaving because you were such a handful." His expression fell slightly and he leaned forward to touch his forehead to Sleipnir's. "I never spent enough time with my children."

Loki stepped closer, combing his fingers gently through Sleipnir's mane. "You can do better this time," he offered quietly. _We **both** can,_ he didn't say aloud, but it hung there, between them. That silent promise that Loki's life would be different, that he wouldn't share the regrets Sigurðr carried in his broken heart.

Sigurðr gave a brief nod and ran his hand up Sleipnir's nose again. "Can you communicate via mind, yet?" he asked.

"No," Loki said as his son shook his head in the negative. "Should he be able to?"

Sigurðr's lips thinned for a moment before he allowed, "Odin taught him, when he was old enough to serve as his war horse." He shook his head. "I think I can teach you a little sooner, however. And perhaps a few other tricks, besides; we can have fun while Mummy's pouring over boring texts."

Loki choked on a laugh while Sleipnir whinnied in amusement. "Hey!"

Sigurðr flashed him a smirk, bright and playful.

Bringing Sleipnir was probably the best choice Loki had ever made.

-0-

Loki and Sigurðr fell into an easy pattern over the next couple years. For six days, Loki would travel out to the cottage – almost always with Sleipnir, much to everyone's pleasure – then he would take the seventh day to stay with his family. (He wouldn't have bothered, but Thor had complained about never seeing him and threatened to follow him out to the cottage, which Loki wanted to avoid at all costs.)

Sigurðr taught Loki anything that came to mind: Some days were spent learning knives and the short sword Loki still used in those rare occasions he was dragged out to the training grounds; other days involved practising seiðr until Loki was falling over, exhausted, and Sigurðr had to help him back to the city, or let Loki borrow his bed for the night; yet other days found the two learning to use their Jötunn heritage in tandem, for Sigurðr had never trained any of those skills.

Loki was heading home after training with knives all day, alone because Sleipnir had spent the day being fitted for riding equipment, and pleasantly sore with the remaining sense of victory in landing a cut on Sigurðr's cheek. (He'd promptly been smacked around directly after, his teacher always happy to remind him that one blow landed meant little in the grand scheme of things.)

He was just in view of the edges of the city when everything went oddly dark.

-0-

He woke to the sounds of harsh voices snarling curses back and forth. A fire crackled nearby, warm against the bare skin of his chest and legs.

_What?_ Loki thought groggily, because why was he _naked_? He never slept naked. Unless he was in an animal form, but he felt very Áss, at the moment.

"He's waking up!" someone snarled. "Quick! Where's the potion?"

_Potion?_ Loki wondered before his mouth was forced open and something poured into it.

"Swallow. Good, little prince..."

Loki wanted to inform them that the only person allowed to call him _that_ was Sigurðr, but the heavy blanket of sleep came over him again, and he drifted into the welcoming darkness.

-0-

He woke biting back a scream, pain blooming through his side like a knife.

_Ah,_ he realised as he blinked tear-filled eyes at the man standing in front of him, _it **is** a knife._ For there was a knife in the man's hand, glinting red in the torchlight.

"Good morning, little prince," the man said, voice light and rolling.

_Looks like Æsir, but his accent's wrong,_ Loki considered, even as he spat red-tinged saliva at the man. "I don't answer to that," he snarled, eyes narrowed and icy. Two years as Sigurðr's pupil had left him rather less inclined to flinch from danger.

The man's expression tightened. "You will answer as I call you," he said, and his voice was hardening, trying to sound more threatening.

Loki leaned forward, arms tugging against manacles high above him, and laughed in his face.

The man hit him across the face with the hand holding the knife, and Loki smiled through the bloom of fresh pain across his cheek and nose, licking at the blood that dripped within reach of his tongue. The man grabbed him by the throat, familiar in a way, but having none of Sigurðr's physical strength. "You laugh now, boy, but I will have the last as I listen to you spill every one of your _sire's_ secrets."

Loki's smile widened, cut aching. "You honestly believe Father tells me anything of _importance_? When I spend so much of my time away from the city?"

"Then you will tell me of the army, of your _brother_. You will tell me their weaknesses and you will _plead for it_."

"You are truly terrible at this," Loki informed him. "And my brother _has_ no weakness. But you're welcome to face him in combat yourself, if you need assurance of such."

"Byggvir," a new voice interrupted before Loki's jailer could respond to his taunt. The man stepped away and Loki glanced over at the newcomer, a face he was familiar with.

"Freyr," he said, smiling wide. "May I say, your hospitality is _dreadful_. Though, the bed must have been comfortable; I've never felt so well rested."

"Silvertongue," Freyr returned. "Always a pleasure to listen to your honeyed lies." His smile twisted nastily. "Cavorted with any domestic beasts of late?"

Loki refused to let himself react to that taunt, beyond the chilling of his smile. "Take care, lest the next time your sister is to be wed to a monster, I leave her to it with my blessing."

Freyr's own smile chilled slightly at the threat. "Cousin, there is no need for such uncouth language of a _lady_ ," he chastised lightly.

"Ah. I must hold my tongue entirely, then, as I seem surrounded by them."

Freyr's eyes blazed and he'd struck Loki across the face before he'd thought to move, judging by the surprised look on his face. Loki laughed at him and spat blood onto his perfect white coat. In retaliation, Freyr snatched the knife from the other man – Byggvir, Loki assumed – and plunged it into Loki's chest, just to the side of his heart, smile nothing but cruel as he met Loki's pained eyes. "Give me what I wish, Loki, and I'll see to it you are richly rewarded."

Loki took a shuddering breath, his chest on fire with pain, then smiled, wide and just shy of insane. "I would rather die a _thousand_ deaths than betray my people. And had you any honour, _Cousin_ , you would end this pathetic war before it can go any farther."

"It is your _father_ that has no honour, and I will see him _pay_ ," Freyr snarled in return, then pulled the knife from Loki's chest and held it out to Byggvir. "Make him sing," he ordered before storming from the room.

Loki turned his gaze to Byggvir, smile wild with pain and the eternal need to just _piss someone off_. "I'll sing your death ballad, shall I?" he offered, voice sharp and cruel, and then he let out a giggle, sound hitching with pain.

Byggvir took a helpless step back, eyes wide, then he turned and fled, the cell door falling shut with a final 'clang' behind him.

Loki sagged against the manacles, wincing at the flares of pain from his varied wounds. When he motioned a healing galðr, he felt only a sharp tug throughout his body. _They've blocked my seiðr,_ he recognised, remembering well the manacles Sigurðr had worn when he'd first arrived. But this felt nothing like how Sigurðr had described those. But, then, the Vanir were far more practiced at blocking the seiðr of seiðkonur and seiðmenn than Midgardians; they wouldn't chance the seiðr exploding out from the wielder because it was too much in too small a space.

It was a small comfort, given the burn of pain, but Loki would take what he could get.

He would hold strong, trusting in Sigurðr to recognise when something was wrong, and Heimdall's sight to find him in this dank cell. He could last against a little torture, the pathetic attempts Freyr and his servants thought to bring down on him. He would manage with a smile, and if that smile was just a little _too_ insane, well...

He'd had a good teacher.

-0-

Loki was laughing through blood, half a dozen new wounds covering his chest and thighs, when the entire cell lit with golden-green seiðr. Sigurðr appeared, dressed in the black leather Loki had first seen him in, arms glinting with gold armour, and a cape the same shade of green that Loki favoured flowing around him.

Byggvir was a pile of shredded skin and bones before he'd even had time to scream and Sigurðr stepped over what was left with nary a glance, twitching his fingers to release Loki, and catching him when his legs refused to support his weight. "If they have done more than bleed you–" the elder snarled as his seiðr raced over Loki's skin, healing damage.

"No. No, I am well." Loki pressed tighter against Sigurðr, comforted by the chill that bled from him. "Thank you. For coming to get me."

Sigurðr relaxed and his seiðr calmed its furious raging around the cell. "Did you think I would leave you, little prince?"

The nickname brought tears to Loki's eyes for reasons beyond his comprehension and he hid his face against the now-familiar golden adornment across Sigurðr's chest.

Sigurðr shifted, and his cape was in his hands, being wrapped carefully around Loki. "I wouldn't," he murmured.

The cape twisted and separated, forming a tunic and trousers in the same colour, and Loki swallowed the odd emotions and smiled at the elder. "Thanks. I was getting tired of being naked."

"Yes, you're rather too bony to pull it off," Sigurðr returned, a glint of humour in his eyes.

Armoured feet sounded, heavy and rushed, outside the cell, and Sigurðr immediately went on guard, seiðr flaring around him like a visible aura of menace. But it was Thor who came into sight, breathing hard and cheek streaked with blood. "Loki!" he shouted, eyes zeroing in on where his brother was standing behind the elder seiðmaðr.

"You're _late_ ," Sigurðr snarled, relaxing again.

"Guards upstairs," Thor snapped back, stepping into the cell and reaching a hand out for Loki, eyes worried. "You could have teleported me, too. Loki, are you well?"

"Well enough, Brother. Don't concern yourself," Loki soothed, stepping forward and cupping Thor's cheek.

Thor grinned in relief. "Thank the Norns." He pulled Loki into a hug, grip crushing and familiar.

Loki allowed it for a moment before shoving at his chest. "Brute! Haven't I suffered enough?"

"Let us to the Æsir line," Sigurðr said, voice tight. "I have no wish to meet Freyr on his own turf, not having killed his servant so."

Thor glanced down and blanched. "Did you _have_ to be so thorough?"

Sigurðr pinned him with an unimpressed stare. "Judge not what you did not witness, son of Odin."

Thor grimaced. "I can think of no cause for such a death."

"You are not me," Sigurðr pointed out dryly, and Loki ducked his head to hide a smile. "Loki, has your strength returned? I will need your assistance to bring us three past all these wards and back to the Allfather's camp."

"I should be," Loki agreed, reaching for his teacher and Thor.

Sigurðr teleported them to just outside the Allfather's main tent, shoulders tense as Thor and Loki's father hurried over to them. And then, moving quickly behind, followed, "Sleipnir!"

Loki ducked around his father and wrapped his arms around his son, touching foreheads as Sleipnir exclaimed, _'Mother! You're not hurt, are you? I'll go in and bite off their heads and stomp on them and–'_

Loki choked on a laugh and rubbed his son's ears. "When did you become so _violent_? Have you been listening to Sigurðr's stories again?"

Sleipnir huffed and gently butted heads with Loki. _'I like Father's stories,'_ he insisted.

Loki winced; Sleipnir had started calling Sigurðr 'Father' as soon as he could communicate, and Loki hadn't had the heart to explain to his son why he probably shouldn't call the anti-social man that around anyone else, especially since Sleipnir didn't really talk to anyone outside Loki and Sigurðr. "I know you do," he murmured. "I like them, too." He did; Sigurðr was quite talented at weaving tales, as Loki would have expected, and he'd lived a long life. He was careful with the stories that might upset, however, and Loki had the feeling that he would never, truly, discover what had happened to his teacher's banished children, or broken him so.

"Loki," Father called, and Loki turned to look at him, one hand stroking Sleipnir's nose soothingly. Father looked him over, eye bright with concern for a long moment before it eased and he stepped forward to pull Loki into an embrace. "Your mother was terrified," he murmured. And though he didn't say it, Loki knew he, too, had been worried for Loki's disappearance.

"You can send back a messenger, then, to tell her I am well."

"You should go back yourself, Brother," Thor suggested.

Loki tensed and levelled a cold stare on his brother from over their father's shoulder. "Are you implying I am incapable of handling myself in battle?" he asked, voice low and warning.

Thor frowned. "Loki, you can't even use a _sword_."

"Nor can I, son of Odin," Sigurðr interrupted, picking at his nails with a knife, "yet you showed no hesitation in allowing myself to be your companion."

Thor looked flummoxed for a moment, then he pointed at Loki and snapped, "You got _kidnapped_!"

Loki formed a knife in one hand – one of the first bits of combat seiðr Sigurðr had taught him – and raised it to throw, but Father stopped him with a hand around his wrist. "That is _enough_. _Both_ of you," he added to Thor's smug expression. Only when Thor had slouched and Loki's knife vanished, did Father turn to Sigurðr, who narrowed his eyes. "You are Loki's teacher; do you believe him capable of taking part in this battle?"

Sigurðr's eyes widened briefly, then his whole expression closed itself off and he turned his gaze on Loki, who met him stare for stare. "Where am I?" he asked Loki.

"What sort of idiotic–" Thor started.

Loki turned and tossed a quickly conjured knife towards his brother, causing Thor to duck to the side with a shout. But Loki hadn't been aiming for Thor, and he smirked when Sigurðr caught the knife just in front of his nose, his copy fading from sight as he appeared.

Sigurðr nodded and absently vanished the knife. "I would trust him to watch my back," he told the Allfather.

Father turned away. "You will need proper armaments. Thor, assist your brother." And then he was gone, back to his war plans.

Thor let out a disgruntled noise and turned. " _Fine_ ," he muttered. "This way."

Loki rolled his eyes at the elder prince's petulance, but he still followed along behind, Sleipnir following behind. Sigurðr vanished from sight, and Loki wondered, for one brief moment, what the man was up to. But, then, it wasn't as though he could stop the elder, and Sigurðr was more than capable of taking care of himself.

-0-

It was almost two years before the Vanir gave themselves up to the Æsir army. In that time, Thor learned what war _truly_ was, and started sleeping with Mjölnir in his bed. He and his friends also learned that Loki might not fight in any conventional manner, but he was plenty capable in a skirmish, and when he and Sigurðr worked seiðr or their particular brand of fighting in tandem, they were a lethal combination.

For the first few months of the war, Loki had kept to the tent he, Thor, and the Warriors Three had been assigned overnight. But, slowly, he started spending his evenings at Sigurðr's lonely fire, on the very edge of the main camp, and he would listen to stories, or practise seiðr, if the day hadn't been too draining. Some nights, he fell asleep at the fire, and Sigurðr would put him to bed in his small tent, rather than take him back.

By the one year mark, Loki had stopped even pretending he was still living in Thor's tent. Thor and his friends didn't seem to care, happily accepting the extra space, but Father had pulled Loki aside during one particularly dull day to ask, "This Sigurðr, who is he to you?"

"He's my teacher, my friend," Loki replied, confused.

"Nothing more?"

Loki frowned. "What more than friend and teacher would you suspect of him, Father?"

Father had watched him for a long moment before turning away. "I suspect nothing."

Which was an absolute lie, and one Loki turned around in his mind for months before it finally came to him: Father thought he and Sigurðr were _lovers_.

It was absolutely _absurd_ , considering they were the same person. Loki wasn't _that_ narcissistic.

Or was he?

With the realisation of Father's suspicions came a sudden hypersensitivity to everything having to do with Sigurðr. Innocent appreciation of the way his teacher spun words, or the effortless twist of his wrist that was exactly the same for both the casting of a galðr and the throwing of a knife. The careless touches when Sigurðr corrected his stance meant so much more and Loki was forever finding himself staring when Sigurðr took his clothing off to sleep.

If Sigurðr noticed his preoccupation, he didn't mention it. Which either meant Loki was sneakier than he thought, or Sigurðr was waiting for him to sort it out himself.

By the call of the ceasefire, he still hadn't worked it out, however, and he spent the first night back in the castle tossing and turning in his own bed, missing the familiar sounds of the elder man's breathing.

"I'm going mad," he informed Sigurðr when he pushed into the other's cottage the next day.

"You'll find you're in excellent company," Sigurðr returned, not looking up from the cleaning of his armour, something which Loki had discovered he always did by hand, though he knew plenty galðrar for the task.

Loki stared down at his entwined fingers for a long moment before blurting out, "Father said something to me."

"The Allfather is known for loosening his lying tongue from time to time," Sigurðr agreed. And while the words were still disrespectful, a lot of the venom that had once dripped from his tongue in reference to Loki's father had vanished during his time as a captive, for a reason he'd never been quite daring enough to ask after.

Loki swallowed. "He asked if we were lovers."

Sigurðr went very, very still.

The stillness was really quite telling, and Loki whispered, "I wouldn't mind. If we were."

"Do not go down this path, Loki," Sigurðr warned, and Loki honestly wasn't sure which of them he was speaking to.

Loki moved forward, stopping just at Sigurðr's side, observing the way his teacher's expression had frozen with concentration, eyes still watching where his hand held a cloth to the shoulder plate so beautifully decorated with a wolf he'd called Fenrir when Loki had asked. "Why not?"

The elder's eyes fell closed and he murmured, "O, that way madness lies; let me shun than; no more of that."

Loki blinked in confusion. "Sigurðr?"

Sigurðr sighed and looked up at Loki, carefully setting his armour down. "This is a poor plan, little prince. You know well my cruelties, how near I am to a ledge, especially regarding your family. Someone will get hurt, and I cannot promise it won't be permanent."

"I know better than to bring you home with me," Loki returned with a scoff.

"And when Odin finally deems you in need of a wife?" Sigurðr demanded, a coldness in his eyes. "I will not be a body left in the woods for your pleasures!"

"When have you _ever_ been anything less than first in my life?" Loki shouted, leaning forward so green matched, too close, with green. "And what demand you make of me without turning it back on yourself! Living out here, alone; what's to keep you from finding another outcast for a night's warmth?"

Sigurðr's fingers tangled in Loki's hair, pulling down hard until their lips were brushing as the elder whispered, "I do not share, and I will kill any you think to put above me." Teeth caught, sharp and violent, in Loki's bottom lip, surprising a gasp from him. "If you betray me, I will rip out your heart and you will watch as I eat it, lips sewn shut."

"Fuck you," Loki snarled, catching his own fingers in Sigurðr's much longer black hair and giving it a violent pull. "You direct _nothing_ of my life. _You are not me_."

Sigurðr let out a laugh, low and promising something that pooled heat low in Loki's belly and raced shivers up his spine. And then he pulled forward, uncaring for the way his hair pulled in Loki's hand, and crashed their lips together.

The elder bit along Loki's lips and forced his tongue into the prince's mouth, and Loki retaliated by biting the invader until it pulled back, then chasing after it with his own tongue, demanding dominance.

Oh, but Sigurðr was not to be underestimated, and Loki whimpered as Sigurðr's skin bloomed cold and blue, forcing him to ease up and give his skin the chance to complete its own transformation, or burn with frostbite. Sigurðr took the chance and returned to invading Loki's mouth, tongue mapping along his teeth, the roof of his mouth, the pebbles of his tongue. And when Loki tried to bite him again, Sigurðr's hand in his hair pulled back, _hard_ , and disconnected their mouths entirely, turning his teeth to Loki's throat.

Loki held out for another long moment before giving in to his screaming Jötunn instincts and falling to his knees in submission, his hand slipping from Sigurðr's hair to rest against the other's chest.

Sigurðr's teeth gentled and he nipped along Loki's jaw until he'd reached the younger's lips. There, he breathed, "Remember your place, little prince," and caught Loki's mouth with a kiss meant to bruise more than dominate, and Loki leaned into it, neither able, nor willing to fight back again.

When Sigurðr finally left his mouth, he rose, pulling Loki to his feet after him. A motion had their clothing vanished, then Loki was shoved against the top of the table. Loki barely had time to process the change in position before Sigurðr was behind him, manhood hard against the crack of his arse, and panic flared sudden and quick in Loki's chest, the position too familiar, too raw even after years of trying to forget it.

He shoved at the table, back into Loki, and let out a whimper. "No. Please, please no."

Sigurðr's presence was immediately gone from his back, and Loki was turned around and drawn against the elder's chest. "I forgot," Sigurðr murmured as Loki pressed against him, face hidden against the pulse point in his neck. "Forgive me." He pressed his lips against the side of Loki's temple, firm and soothing and so completely opposite from everything that had happened with Svaðilfari, that Loki calmed in spite of himself.

"I would erase those memories from you," Sigurðr whispered into his hair, hands rubbing up and down along Loki's spine, always stopping just before they could touch his arse.

Loki arched into the touch, a silent acceptance.

Sigurðr's hands finally finished their path down, cupping Loki's arse like they did those pieces of armour he most loved. "Let me heal you, like none ever did for me."

Loki whimpered a, "Yes," pressing as close to the other as he could, finding comfort in the chill of his still-blue skin in a way that only a Jötunn could.

Sigurðr easily lifted his weight, and Loki wrapped his legs around the other's waist in a motion that felt proper, natural. The elder rumbled a noise of approval, vibrating through every point of contact between them, and laid them on the bed.

Loki felt the smirk on the other's lips against his own barely a breath before there was a finger pressing into his entrance, something deliciously warm spiking up his spine. He couldn’t help but arch up against Sigurðr, gasping against his mouth. The warmth climbed his spine again as a second finger entered him, moving easily, and...

_Oh. There's seiðr for **everything**._

There was no warning before pleasure surged through Loki's body, sudden and _so cold_. When the sensation came again, perfectly timed to a twitch of the fingers within him, Loki stuttered out, "S-S-Sig–"

"Say my _name_ ," Sigurðr breathed against Loki's ear, punctuated by sinking his teeth into the skin just under it, an unnecessary reminder of who was in charge.

Loki whimpered, bombarded by so many unexpectedly pleasurable sensations, but he forced his tongue to form that name, the one they both shared, but never spoke of: " _Loki_."

Voiced like a prayer, like a plea for freedom and sanctuary and all those things Loki had found with this man, all the things he had yet to find, but he _wanted_.

Sigurðr let out a noise that was as much a growl as it was a whimper, and he took a moment to reposition them both before he guided himself into Loki, smooth and relatively painless from the seiðr.

Loki whimpered at the intrusion, a part of him still remembering what being so full meant, how much it _hurt_.

But the pain was minimal, and the thrum of blood over the raised skin of his throat – marks of ownership that he'd have to hide or heal before returning to the city – was a constant reminder that this was _different_. And the _hands_... Around his hips, down his thighs, up, up, pressing inwards over his abdomen to meet over his sternum. The perfect temperature of _too cold_ , tingling pleasantly over the raised markings that were far more sensitive than Loki would have expected.

He arched against those hands, against the way they traced possessively across his chest, marking a familiar shape that was usually found in gold.

One of the hands moved away and Loki blinked his eyes open, red eyes meeting red as Sigurðr's hand returned to his hip, pulling his rear up slightly. "You're mine, now," the elder whispered, gentle and possessive.

Loki reached up with one hand and grabbed for the hair dangling in Sigurðr's face, blocking one eye. "Yes," he whispered. And then, "I've always been."

Heat flared in Sigurðr's eyes and he pulled nearly out of Loki before shoving back in, hitting hard against whatever it was that made pleasure sing through Loki's blood. He immediately grabbed for Sigurðr's biceps, digging his nails in hard enough to draw dark blue blood.

The pain only seemed to spur Sigurðr on, and Loki was quickly reduced to little more than whimpers as the other alternated between hitting hard on that spot and brushing against it almost teasingly. There was no rhythm that Loki could discern and it was slowly driving him insane.

Finally, _finally_ , Sigurðr's hand wrapped around Loki's member, and he leaned down to order, "C-come," stuttering through his own arousal.

Loki had just enough presence of mind left to turn his head so his lips were pressed against the skin just in front of Sigurðr's ear, then whispered, "Loki," before spiralling out of control.

Somewhere, on the very edge of his blinding pleasure, he was aware of Sigurðr gasping a curse against his shoulder and tensing. _Good._

Loki felt relaxed in a way he'd never done before once the pleasure passed, and he nuzzled against Sigurðr's throat, a little surprised with how comfortable he felt having the elder on top of him. It hadn't mattered who it was or which side they were pressing against, Loki didn't like to be lain on any more, but this...was okay.

Sigurðr's lips pressed against the mark he'd left on Loki's throat, a pleased noise rumbling through his chest. Then he murmured, "You are a terrible submissive."

Loki nipped at his shoulder in retaliation. "I don't submit to _anyone_."

Sigurðr carefully pulled out and Loki let out a whimper at the sudden emptiness. "You submit to _me_ ," the elder said, voice gravelly with sex and pitched like an order.

"Make me," Loki breathed out, reaching up to tangle one hand in Sigurðr's hair and tug on it as hard as he could, given how loose his muscles felt.

"I will," Sigurðr promised, and Loki shuddered with something he would deny until his dying day was pleasure. Judging by the rumble of laughter from deep in the elder's chest, denial would be useless.

Loki wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

-0-

Four centuries of an easy peace followed and Loki and Sigurðr relaxed into a relationship that was six parts fights for dominance, three parts gentle love, and one part violent screaming matches that saw them avoiding each other for a couple months. It was wonderful and perfect, fights or no, and Loki was more than happy with his life.

All of that changed, however, when the Álfar envoy arrived.

Loki had been ordered to stay in the city for the first few days of their visit, so he was already in a poor mood when the party stepped into the hall. His mood soured further when the head of their delegation opened their talks by putting forth an interest in wedding a daughter of Álfheimr to one of the sons of Odin.

Everyone's eyes immediately turned towards Loki – he was well-known to be single, Thor had an on-and-off relationship with Sif that was the talk of Asgard, and Baldr was yet too young to be considered for such a task – and the dark-haired prince narrowed his eyes and snarled, "Turn your gazes to another."

The Allfather brushed the topic to the side to be considered later, then proceeded to corner Loki after their guests had been shown to their quarters. "This marriage would do much for the unity of our peoples," Father commented, tone tellingly neutral.

"Then have Thor agree to it," Loki returned coolly, picking at his nails. "His philandering ways are a disgrace to his title, and being forced to settle will do him nothing but good."

"Thor has a chosen."

"No, Father. Thor has a fuck buddy. Who is currently refusing to speak to him because they're both petty and fight every third decade over the simplest things."

" _Loki_."

"Moreover," Loki interrupted, allowing his true eyes to bleed through, "your treaty is to be between Álfar and Æsir, not Álfar and Jötnar. Should they discover what I am, it will begin the very war you are attempting to divert."

Father's expression hardened. "How long?" he demanded, voice low and sharp.

Loki blinked, honestly confused. "How long what?"

"How long have you been laying with that seiðmaðr you spend so much time with?"

Loki had honestly been waiting for this question since the first time he'd returned from the cottage following the beginning of their relationship, and he gave no sign of the truth away, instead raising his eyebrows in disbelief. "I had thought us past this implausible line of inquiry. I have no interest in laying with Sigurðr. In laying with _any_ man."

Father was unmoved. "He is a shape-changer, just as you are; there need be no quarrel over gender. Do not lie to me, Loki."

Loki shook his head, loose and resigned. "I haven't."

The single eye narrowed. "He has been in Asgard long enough, far longer than any other Jötnar unattached to the throne. Perhaps it was time he returned to his own kind."

Loki tensed, unable to help it. "He is my sole friend in this Realm, Father. Do not take that away from me."

"You are a son of _my house_ , a prince of the Æsir. It's high time you desisted in your long sojourns away from these halls and began to take your duties seriously. You ask me to marry Thor; you, too, must then make a sacrifice."

Loki swallowed against the climb of helplessness and spun away, intending to take his leave.

"Do not force my hand, Loki," Father warned.

Loki shot him an icy look over his shoulder, eyes a blazing red for just a second. "Likewise," he spat, then stalked away.

-0-

Sigurðr had been surprised by Loki's sudden visit during the time he was to be away, but he'd quickly understood when the prince had explained the confrontation.

"This is not unexpected," he soothed, long fingers brushing through Loki's hair where the younger's head rested against the elder's chest. "It's true that you are a far poorer prince with myself serving as a distraction–"

"I'm _better_ with you," Loki interrupted, further upset by the other's words.

One long finger pressed against Loki's lips. "Hush, little prince, and listen for a moment." He sighed, chest rising and falling easily under the weight of Loki's head. "We are both the better for the other, but it is true that you have other duties that require your clever way of thinking and silver tongue." Loki huffed a laugh. "I am not so prone to violence towards your family, and you are plenty capable of warding your rooms from Heimdall's sight, so I propose simply that it is I that must journey from my abode for some days and nights. There is little here that requires my constant attention.

"This is no threat to us, Loki. We are adaptable, far more malleable than the rest of Asgard."

Loki smiled at that and nodded. "Okay."

Sigurðr hummed and the hand that had been in Loki's hair brushed down his back until it could squeeze Loki's rear. "Now. I've solved your conundrum, you owe me a gift."

Loki raised his head and locked green eyes with green. "Do I?" he murmured, trailing the fingers of one hand lightly over the flimsy fabric Sigurðr wore under his crest.

"Yes," Sigurðr replied, and their clothing vanished, "you do."

Loki pushed back against the finger that breeched him, then leaned up to fight tooth and tongue for dominance.

He lost.

-0-

Thor was difficult for about a week before Mother had words with him and he started acting more like a prince and less like a spoiled brat. (At least, that was how Loki put it. Sigurðr agreed, but few others were amused by their younger prince's less-than-kind words.)

Loki, for all anyone could tell, had no difficulty in ceasing his trips out of the city. Father was the only one who seemed at all suspicious about that, but he didn't ask and Loki didn't volunteer any further information. He did, however, make a point to spend a day at Sigurðr's cottage every few months, if only to keep people from wondering a little too much about the sudden cessation of contact.

Other than the bed they slept in, nothing truly changed for Loki and Sigurðr. Loki was far busier during the days, seeing to various tasks that had been left to lay before he'd taken them on, but Sigurðr was always there in the evenings. And, some nights, when Loki came across a problem that gave him undue difficulty, he could run it past the elder and Sigurðr would help him work through it with all the skills and knowledge of a man who had done this very duty for over a millennium.

And then came the war with Múspellsheimr.

-0-

When word came of the Eldjötnar's attack, brought on the wings of a raven, Sigurðr and Loki were bowed over a document one of the Council members had passed the darker prince due to his way with words. Thor slammed into Loki's quarters without a knock, then froze in shock to find two dark-haired men aiming knives at him, their stances eerily similar. "Loki," he offered, holding his hands up in a sign of peace. "Sigurðr."

The two seiðmaðr relaxed. "What has you so excited, Brother?" Loki asked as Sigurðr dropped back into his seat, apparently uninterested.

Thor was still caught on another matter, however, and he pointed at Sigurðr and asked, "How did he get into the castle?"

"Seiðr," Loki returned drily, and Thor blinked dumbly. " _Thor_. Either explain your presence or get out."

Thor shook his head and met Loki's unamused stare with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "There's word of Surtr. He and his army are on the move."

"Surtr's coming?" Sigurðr demanded as Loki breathed a curse. "When were you planning to tell me, Loki?"

"I _forgot_ ," Loki snapped before turning to Thor. "I thought we weren't expecting him to make a move for another year."

"Huginn returned with the news."

Loki waved a hand at the papers spread out over the table he and Sigurðr had been leaning over, sending them flying to the case he kept them in for safety. "We'll meet you at the gates directly."

Thor's eyes darted to Sigurðr as he nodded. "I'll inform Father we've one more seiðmaðr to assist."

As soon as the door had closed behind Thor, Sigurðr was in front of Loki, holding his chin in a bruising grasp. "As soon as we return, I will punish you for not informing me," he purred, voice low and dark. "I would have told you he would move faster than expected."

Loki clutched at the other's tunic, fighting not to react to the pain. "I forgot," he whispered.

Sigurðr leaned forward and nipped at Loki's bottom lip. "Take care you never forget something so important again," he suggested, voice cold. Then he pulled entirely away, motioning for his armour to appear in place on his body.

Loki took a moment to regain his equilibrium, rubbing briefly at his chin, then made a similar gesture to call his own armour to place.

And then they were off to the gates, moving with an easy familiarity.

Odin didn't have time to discuss Thor finding Sigurðr in Loki's quarters, thankfully, though he did manage to catch Loki with a gaze that spoke volumes about his thoughts on the subject.

"He thinks you're bedding me again," Loki muttered to his lover.

"He's right," Sigurðr replied, lips twisting with a cruel little smile for the briefest of moments, before smoothing back out.

The fight, when it came, was far harder than facing the Vanir. For one, the Vanir hadn't been hot to the touch, causing Æsir everywhere to drop their chosen weapon when it burned too hot to hold. But for Loki and Sigurðr, who had trained hard to master the greatest weakness of their true form, the fire held no fear, and only the most limited amount of danger. Likewise, those Loki often trained with – Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three, and others who frequented the training yards – grit their teeth against the pain of burns and worked past it.

Loki laughed as a cleverly laid trap took out four Eldjötnar, but the victory was a short one, as a massive sword nearly cleaved him in two. It did catch him along his arm, though, and he grasped the wound with his free hand as he turned to face the Eldjötunn towering above him, sword spitting flames in its master's hands.

Loki stumbled backwards, fear chilling his veins for a moment as he recognised Surtr. Then the sword was coming down on him again and Loki dodged, forming ice knives to throw – as dangerous as fire was to the Jötnar, ice was to their fiery cousins.

The knives hit and Surtr let out a scream of fury before waving his sword in a peculiar motion over his head. Loki took a step back, confused and wary.

Surtr's circle narrowed until it was a short funnel, then he turned it on Loki. He had a moment to stare in horror at the fire climbing along the sword to him, then there was a body in the way.

Black hair. Green cape.

" _No_!" Loki screamed, but the fire had already caught on Sigurðr. Too concentrated, too much.

He was watching his lover burn to death.

His vision tunnelled, blocking out everything else, so he didn't see the sudden bloom of icicles forming from any liquid on the battlefield, all tinged pink with blood even before they pierced the thick skin of the the Eldjötnar they aimed for. He didn't hear Surtr's scream of pain as ice flew at him, ripping at his skin until he had fallen, unconscious, to the ground, his sword laying just beyond his reach.

Loki saw nothing but fire, the lick of flame against metal and ash. He heard nothing but the crackle of flames and the roaring in his ears that preceded him collapsing from exhaustion.

-0-

Loki woke to a desperate need to speak with Sigurðr. He'd dreamed his lover had died, but a glance had always calmed him in the past.

He reached across the bed, towards where Sigurðr always slept, but the bed was too small, not comfortable enough.

"Loki?"

Loki opened his eyes to the muted colours of the healing wing. His arm ached and he looked up to find Mother sitting on the edge of his bed, her beautiful eyes filled with love and worry. "Mother," he rasped against a burn in his throat.

_Flames._

Mother reached out and brushed her hand through his hair, a single tear falling from her eyes. "It's good to see you awake, Loki. We thought we'd lost you. You were so drained..."

"Drained?" he whispered.

_Burning, screaming, **NO**._

"You used too much seiðr."

Loki's eyes trailed past her, to the empty room. "Where's Sigurðr?" he asked.

Two more tears fell, one from each eye, and Mother looked away.

Loki stared up at her, something hollow in his chest thumping against his ribcage. "It was an illusion," he whispered, and the words tasted like a plea.

_The flames would have gone right through an illusion._

"No, it wasn't," Mother whispered back.

Loki closed his eyes and turned his face into his pillow. The hollow thing in his chest was cold, and the cold spread out over him, an empty husk.

_I don't want to be awake any more._

Obediently, his body shut down.

-0-

The second time Loki woke, Thor was there, looking miserable in the too-small chair at Loki's bedside. Loki immediately turned away from him. "Go away, if you don't want to be here," he mumbled.

"Someone needs to stay," Thor replied, his voice impossibly quiet.

Loki snorted. "What. Does Father expect me to kill myself?" It wouldn't be the first time; it had been a very real concern when he returned to Asgard with Sleipnir, and if Father still suspected Loki and Sigurðr had been sleeping together...

"Yes," Thor agreed, and Loki snorted again. They were both silent for a moment before Thor said, "Last time you woke, your skin changed."

Loki tensed. "Are you guarding me to keep me safe from others, then? Or others safe from–"

" _Loki_ ," Thor interrupted, clearly upset.

Loki curled in on himself, knees tight against his chest. "Who told you?"

"Mother."

"Did she tell Baldr?"

"Yes."

"Should I expect any awkward questions?"

Thor was quiet for a long moment, then he asked, "Can I... Will you show me?"

Loki felt his mouth curl with a hollow smile before he allowed his skin to change. The cold seeped through him, and it was so very comforting, even if the hollow thing in his chest was so much more pronounced like this.

"What do the markings mean?"

Loki shrugged. "Family lines." It was the best he and Sigurðr could come up with after a bit of asking around.

Thor asked no further questions, and Loki let himself fall back into the cold nothing of dreams.

-0-

The third time he woke, he was back in his quarters, the fire burning merrily in the fireplace. Loki didn't even realise he'd moved until the fireplace exploded with golden-green seiðr, before dissipating to nothing, taking the fire with it.

Metal clinked at his table and Loki turned to meet Father's bland stare. "Not all of us are so resistant to the cold, Loki," he chastised.

Loki glanced down to find blue skin in place of pale pink, then shrugged and flicked a galðr of warmth at his father. "I don't want fires in here."

Father looked back at the table and metal clinked again. "Changes of clothing, books, half-worked galðrar... How long were you lovers?"

"Does it matter?" Loki asked, swallowing against that hollow thing; it seemed to be climbing his throat, trying to break free forever.

"How long?"

Loki closed his eyes. "Since the end of the war with the Vanir," he admitted, because there was no use lying. It didn't matter anymore, not with Sigurðr dead.

The hollow thing in his chest gave a horrible shudder, like it might just burst apart.

Loki rather wished it would.

"Sleipnir was asking after you."

Guilt rolled over Loki, then; Sleipnir had already lost one parent and here he was wishing he could just die so he wouldn't have to live alone.

_Hollow and cold and empty. It's like he took everything I used to be with him, leaving me with only what he'd once been._

Loki climbed out of his bed and walked over to his wardrobe to find something to wear so he could go see his son.

When he walked over to his father, he found Sigurðr's armour – marked with fire – laying across the table. He reached out and picked up the two smallest pieces, detailed so beautifully with the children Loki had never had.

He wondered how hard it would be to find the Jötunn Sigurðr had said bore them.

"Father?" he asked, fingering the bridge of Fenrir's snout. "Could you promise me something?"

"What?" Father asked, cautious.

"Trust me to raise my children well. No matter what others say of them, no matter what prophecies you might be brought. Trust me."

Father was quiet for a long moment, considering. "And should these children follow through on such prophesied actions?"

Loki's grip tightened on the long belt of Jörmungard, the metal biting too easily into skin that was fading slowly back to pink. "If I or Thor were to cause some great destruction, would you allow another to decide our fate?"

"No."

Loki met his father's gaze, his own eyes green and red with the change. "Please don't even take that choice from me."

Father inclined his head. "You have my word."

Loki closes his eyes, relief chasing away the last of the chill. "Thank you."

"Do you intend to marry?"

Loki reached out towards the table and picked up the familiar chest ornament, thumb rubbing against the minute sign of fire damage at one end. "I don't know," he admitted before calling on his seiðr to form the belts he'd need to attach the three pieces of tarnished gold. "I'm going to see Sleipnir," he warned as he slipped them on, the motions familiar from centuries of watching Sigurðr.

"Live with honour," Father said as Loki reached the doors of his quarters, "and you'll see him again in Valhalla."

Loki smiled bitterly at the door, recalling well Sigurðr's certainty that he would never see the halls of Valhalla after all that he'd done before Loki. "Perhaps," he agreed for his father's sake, then stepped through the door.

Deep in his chest, that hollow thing hung heavy and cold, never to be full again. No matter how many children he sired, how many women he bedded, he would remain hollow.

It was entirely too fitting that a part of himself had died with Sigurðr, for was Sigurðr not himself?

..


End file.
